


Four Brothers

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adoption, Bearded Dwarf Women, Canonical Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dwarf Culture & Customs, F/M, Gen, Grieving, Nightmares, Seriously These Guys Are VERY Young, Sleeping Difficulties, Young Balin - Freeform, Young Dwalin, Young Dís - Freeform, Young Glóin, Young Thorin, Young Óin, read the notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2625986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My sons, nadad. What will happen to my sons?"</p>
<p>Gróin made himself look into the dazzling blue of Fundin's eyes. "I shall care for them, of course."</p>
<p>Following the Battle of Moria, Gróin  finds himself caring for his two nephews. But the road to recovery is long and hard, particularly with four children to look after, two of whom suffer with nightmares, one refusing to talk and the other unable to stay far from his brother's side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Tomorrow it begins," Fundin said, seating himself beside his brother. "Looking forward to it?"

"As long as _my_ children stay where it is safe, aye." Gróin agreed, giving his brother a  meaningful look as he sharpened his ax. 

Fundin tugged on his braid. "Watch it, Gróin."

"What's making you allow them to enter the madness tomorrow?"

"My King asked it of me."

"You know Fríja would kill you if she knew."

"Yes."

"Brother, Thráin wouldn't hold it against you if you were to order them to stay behind."

"No. But _they_ would. Dwalin's already settled on a target of how many Orcs he wants to kill."

Gróin chuckled. "Aye, he's like his da."

Fundin smiled proudly. "That he is. Out there on the battlefield, I can watch them. Do you truly believe your sons will stay here?"

"They'd better. Sannith will end my line if they do."

Fundin shook his head. "You fuss too much," he declared. "Always have done."

Gróin gave his brother a very rude gesture. "You've made your decision and I've made mine," he said. "Let's just hope that our children live through it as well as us."

 


	2. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is upon them.

"But, _why?"_

"Because Da said so." Óin responded shortly.

"Why?"

"'Cos he doesn't want us to die!"

"But, wh-?"

"Hey! Does the sound of arguing reach my ears?"

Gróin's face was stern, but there was a gentle look in his eyes that was directed at his children. His secondborn looked up at him imploringly. He chuckled. "No, my little ruby. I know you are eager to help, but I want you to stay here, help your nadad with the injured."

"But the king said-"

At the mention of Thrór, Gróin's face darkened. Words their king had used: _'battle-ready'_ and, worse of all, _'their deaths will be quicker than ours would be'_ , swum through his mind. Forcing himself to calm down, he crouched before his sons and looked both in the eye. "My children," he said. "I don't give a flying rat what the king said. I want you both to live, to lead long lives. I cannot change the minds of your uncle, nor my cousin, which is a pity. But I can keep mine made up. _Please_ do as I ask of you."

They both nodded, their dark eyes wide and solemn. He smiled down at them and gathered his secondborn into one arm and gestured for his eldest to join him. Their little bodies held tightly, _safely_ , against his chest made him feel at peace.  

In the distance, the battle-horn blew. He sighed heavily. Slowly releasing both, he kissed them on their heads and stood, looking down at both. He suddenly felt drained, as though a great weight had suddenly fallen upon his shoulders. _"They'll be safe here",_ he told himself firmly. _"Say goodbye and, Mahal willing, you shall see them again soon."_

 "Look after each other," he said, wishing he could take both with him. He felt wretched, leaving them. "Try and find your mother. She'll be in one of the healing tents."

"Aye, Da."

Standing by the entrance flap, he looked, suddenly sternly, down at both, immediately gaining their attention. "Boys. Do _not_ enter that battlefield."

He left then, running toward the lines. He could make out the height of his brother, briskly walking toward the mass, two smaller figures behind him. Catching up, he looked at his brother-sons. They were clad in armour too big for them, holding oversized weapons in their small hands. They should have looked hilarious, but instead Gróin felt like weeping. Looking at Fundin, he knew his brother felt exactly the same way.

"Come," said Fundin, drawing out his sword. Thráin and Thrór will be expecting us."

Numbly he followed his brother and nephews. Soon, the glinting figures of his cousins came into view, two small younglings between them. Thrór had always worn his battle armour when strolling around Erebor. He'd worn it when the dragon, cursed creature that it was, attacked, and he wore it now, King Under the Mountain once more. His son,  Thráin, wore simple chainmail, as did his sons, Thorin and Frerin. Frerin, poor lad, looked afraid, if determined, and  Gróin wished he could send him to join Óin and Glóin in the tent he'd left them in. But he knew Thráin would not allow it, and he knew why.

_'Let them seize this glory with us!'_

 Thrór ignored him. Their last words to each other had not been pleasant, the king accusing him of treason and the lord insinuating (or, as Fundin accused, outright stating) that he loved wealth more than his own kin.

 Thráin nodded at him. He, at least, understood. "Are you ready, cousins?"

Gróin nodded grimly, thinking of his children, safe, warm - _alive_ \- and looked to him. "As I'll ever be."

* * *

 

"Mam, will Da win?"

Their mother's own dark eyes shut briefly. "If he can, he will," she said, hugging them closer. They were alone but for the healers who were alert for any injured that would come their way. Their amad had warned them that she would have to leave them in the chair while she tended to the wounded, but for now, she held them on her lap, holding both her sons close. 

"Did _you_ want to fight, Mam?"

Sannith looked surprisedly at her firstborn. "Aye, my lad. I wouldn't have said 'no', put it that way. But who'd look after you if anything happened?"

"Da won't die, will he?"  Glóin asked.

Sannith flinched. "I hope not," she said. "And I believe he's too stubborn to do so."

Both her children relaxed, snuggling into her warm softness. She looked down at the soft, pale hair of her firstborn and the darker hair of her secondborn and looked up, catching the watching, sorrowful eyes of the healers. They were beginning to look tired and she kissed them both, smiling at their stifled yawns.

"We can't spare any beds, my lady."

She nodded. "Aye, well I'll just have to compromise. Could one of you roll up my cloak and place it on the ground beside me?"

One of them did so, and Sannith watched their eyes droop closed and carefully lifted them, placing their heads upon the bunched-up cloak. Taking Gróin's cloak from around her shoulders, she covered them and quietly stepped away. Watching them sleep, so tired, so young made her sigh. "They shouldn't be here. None of us should."

"We may win, Lady Sannith."

"Yes, but how high will the cost be?" She asked of them, a hard look coming into her black eyes. "Even _mithril_ is not worth the lives of loved ones."

They did not agree, but neither did they disagree, until one piped up. "We shall be prosperous again."

Sannith set her jaw. "Only if," she said, "we live through it."

**Author's Note:**

> Ages
> 
> These are completely canon. Seriously.
> 
> Thorin: He was the age of 53 when he fought in the Battle (at least in Tolkien's works). This puts him at the equivalent age of 13 years old in Man years.
> 
> Frerin: He was the age of 48 when he partook in the Battle. This is equivalent to 12 years old in Man years.
> 
> Dís: She was the age of 39. Presumably, she didn't take part in the battle, being the only daughter of Prince Thrain. She was the equivalent of nine years old in Man years.
> 
> Balin: He was 36 years old when he fought in the Battle. This is the equivalent of being nine years old in Man years.
> 
> Dwalin: He was 27 years old when he fought in the Battle. This is the equivalent of being six years old in Man years.
> 
> Óin: He was 25 years old during the Battle. I assume he helped with the wounded, but he would have been the equivalent of six years old in Man years.
> 
> Glóin: He was sixteen years old during the battle. I know he fought in it, because look at that scar going through his eyebrow. He would have been the equivalent of a four year old in Man years.
> 
> Gróin: He was 128 years old during the Battle. This is the equivalent of 32 in Man years.
> 
> Fundin: He was 137 during the Battle. This is the equivalent of 34 years old in Man years.
> 
> Thrain: He was 155 during the Battle. This is the equivalent of 38 years old in Man years.
> 
> Thrór: He was 257 during the Battle. This is the equivalent of 64 years old in Man years.
> 
> I'm actually going off movie canon a bit. In the book, Thrór actually died before the Battle, but there you go.


End file.
